


The Burner of Ships

by trioditis (hekate_trioditis)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hekate_trioditis/pseuds/trioditis
Summary: Nausicaa, the Phaeacian princess, features in one book and a handful of lines in Homer’s Odyssey. She deserves so much more, as her compound name, ‘Burner of Ships’, suggests. So queer ancient Greek myth pirate adventure it is.
Kudos: 4





	1. EXORDIUM

I shan’t sing you the song of the stranger, for his tale has been told already. Most frequently by himself. This song is mine, but tied to his; for when his was near its end, mine was near its beginning. 

I too saw the many lands and minds of men. I found them wanting. The seas and hearts of women spoke more strongly to me. For this song is also my sisters’, we who are White-Armed, Slim-Ankled, Of-The-Lovely-Tresses, and so much more. And where that cunning, resourceful, much-enduring man failed to save his crew, know that I died for mine. 

Calliope, this one’s for you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise from the off that this may be a) a terrible idea, b) badly-written, and c) never be finished. But I thought if I made it at least semi-official I’d be more likely to at least deal with c), which might improve b), or at the very least reveal the truth about a).  
> I‘ll be trying to keep reasonably close to the canon of the Odyssey in terms of early plot, but do intend later to diverge later, and make three very important tonal/thematic differences:  
> \- Nausicaa in particular, along with other relevant characters, have been aged-up to avoid ancient Greek child-bride implications. Yuk.  
> \- Non-male-/hetero-/cis-centric.  
> \- Slavery is detestable, and I want it gone.  
> If I fall down on this or any other count, please call me out on it. 
> 
> This idea has been bubbling away for a few years now, but really got spurred post-Season 5 of She-Ra (thank you, Noelle), and so if you see similarities (hopefully not outright plagiarism) in the arc of the main characters, that is deliberate.
> 
> I may not have grey-eyed Athena, but eternal thanks to my two Grays, who I gushed to with the original idea, and encouraged me to write it. Every word I don’t write is a stain on our friendship. I need to write this godsdamn thing.


	2. II - SCHERIA

“Dawn clawed at my eyes with her rosy fingers. No matter how often I made offerings to her, she remained as unforgiving as ever in her insistence each morning. I groaned and pulled the blanket over my face, listening to the gentle breathing of my maids by the door, apparently spared Eos’ cruelty. The faint cries of the sailors, vendors, tradesfolk drifted from the direction of the harbour, a morning breeze wafting the familiar salt-tang along with them.

Another familiar noise caught my ears: a light scuffle and grunt from the direction of the window, and a shadow passed across the surface of the blanket. 

“Psst.”

I remained silent. A quiet, irritated sigh. Light footsteps from the window to the foot of my bed.

“Psst,” more insistently this time.

I couldn’t help but smile beneath the blanket. This was our routine; had been for as long as I could remember. 

“Either you get up, or I’ll get you up.”

“Don’t you ever sleep?” I mumbled. “Why do you insist on dragging me on one of your schemes as soon as it’s light?”

“Schemes are best started early. Leave us all the more time to come up with a solution if they go awry.”

“When they go awry, you mean.” 

The blanket was tugged sharply downwards, but I held it in place.

“Have it your way. No mercy for slug-a-beds.”

A weight landed on me, digging for my ribs with quick fingers. I thrashed and wriggled, trying to stifle my laughter, unable to break free, pinned as I was by the blanket and the figure atop it. 

“Hespera,” I gasped, “Hespera, stop, I give in.”

The fingers ceased their assault on my ribs, and the blanket was ripped from my face. Blinking against the sun, I saw a sun-browned amber-eyed face grinning triumphantly down at me, her hair already tangled with a twig, no doubt from the ivy outside my window. Hespera did not look strong, but her slight, wiry frame belied a ferocious energy; all-too-often when she was younger had her father waded into the midst of a scrap at the docks, prying his daughter off one of the other sailor’s sons. She had not so much calmed in the years since, but rather the harbour-youths had since learned not to tease this wild-haired girl. 

She sat back on her bare heels, allowing me to wriggle upright. “C’mon, dad’s supposed to be back soon, and he‘s bound to have brought us something. The new ships are almost finished too, so if the queen asks where you’ve been today you can just tell her you were performing a royal inspection.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Father and Laodamas already inspected the ships two days ago, and said all they needed was to be painted.” I leaned forward and began to untwine the ivy from her hair. “Besides, Hesp, you know mother can see through every lie I tell her, especially one so obviously yours. Now hold still.”

Hespera ceased fidgeting against my ongoing battle with the twig and huffed impatiently. until it came free. She snatched it, scampered to the window and hurled it out. 

“Dionysus, by this offering I entreat you: breathe some life into this idle princess! May you grant her the energy to hoist herself from her bed before midday!”

Her mock invocation jolted my maids awake, and they barely remembered to conceal their irritation at Hespera’s invasion of my chamber. They swiftly tidied away their cots and went to the chest to ready my clothes. Begrudgingly, I rolled off the bed and removed my shift. Hespera, grinning at her victory, began to twirl about the chamber, leaping high over every pile of discarded dresses, headscarves and sandals, landing softly on her bare feet. She always excelled in the choral dances, and had won many crowns at the festivals. It was the one thing she seemed to take seriously, the one thing where her energy and athleticism were admirable, rather than controversial. Even the Phaeacians drew a line somewhere when it came to what we women could do.

“Your room is a shambles, princess,” she said, hopping over another heap of garments. “Poor Eurymedusa. Imagine still forcing your long-suffering nurse to pick up after you at her age?”

She only ever called me ‘princess’ when she was teasing me.

Chloris arrived with a clean chiton, as Elpis chirped up:

“We do all the tidying, so Eurymedusa doesn’t have to. She told me to tell you, Nausicaä, that she wants to talk to you about important things today.” A flush crept onto Elpis’ cheeks: “I think it’s about...you know…” 

My glare silenced her from across the room. I turned my back to Hespera as Chloris pulled my nightshift over my head, trying to hide my own flushed cheeks from her. I was all too aware of the lingering stares and whispered comments made by the sons of the Twelve when they joined their noble fathers at palace banquets. And as much as I had tried to convince myself that my freedom would last forever, grander and grander tokens of guest-friendship had been exchanged, more and more private audiences had been sought with my father. I had come close to talking to Hespera about it many times over the past month, but something...something held me back each time. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have noticed Elpis’ insinuation.

Chloris threw the light cloth over my head and deftly fastened it with a brooch at each shoulder, before working down each arm with her pins. She was the tallest of my maids, although still a head shorter than me, a fair-skinned girl from a fishing-family, her quick fingers making short work of the pins having been raised to thread hooks onto lines and weave nets. I’d miss her when her practicum was up, and she left to start a family with whichever princeling my father helped arrange as thanks to her family for her service. I couldn’t talk with her as openly as I did with Hespera - I had sensed Chloris’ discomfort when I tried - but at least she was not as empty-headed as a Elpis, and could look me in the eye when she spoke, unlike many of the Phaeacian girls who still felt the need to bow their heads.

Chloris pulled the cord belt taut around my waist and adjusted the overfold. She nodded, satisfied, and gestured towards my dressing-table where Elpis waited. How I envied Hespera whose morning routine consisted of half-heartedly pulling her hair into a loose side-braid, binding her chest - something she had done since she turned 15, and stealing one of her brothers’ loose tunics. But a shipwright’s daughter and a princess have very different expectations of them.

Hespera had ceased dancing, and came to perch on the dressing table. Her heels and fingers drummed to the internal music she had been dancing to, but said nothing for a while as she watched Elpis brush my hair and tease the sandy strands into a simple knot at the back, something that could easily be covered by a scarf; she knew any attempt at an intricate style would be wasted on a day when Hespera was in such an impish mood. 

I shifted my gaze in the mirror - smooth and silvery, as the Phaeacian craftsfolk have been taught by Hephaistos, unlike the murky beaten bronze that the Achaians supposedly use, according to the sailors who trade with them. It allowed me a clear view of Hespera’s back, where the bruise she’d acquired a few days past in an attempt to climb one of the trees in Athena’s Grove was fading from dark purple to yellow. The neckline of her tunic cut the mark in half, so that it looked like a host of stormclouds massing on a far horizon. I shuddered, and didn’t know why.

I laid my hand next to hers, reminding myself of another way we were different: her dark skin spoke of a days on the deck of her father’s ship, of bare-legged runs along the cliffs, of a life lived outdoors. Mine could have belonged to any of the maidens in Demodocus’ songs: fair Helen, white-armed Andromeda, slim-ankled Io. The Phaeacians likened me to Artemis, who could occasionally be seen hunting with her band of nymphs, her moonbright skin gleaming in the shaded groves. But her complexion came from her divinity, mine from modest headscarves, sleeves, floor-sweeping dresses, and days at the loom. My friendship with Hespera had not undone a lifetime of custom and modesty.

Hespera’s hand shifted slightly, her little finger coming to rest on mine. I looked up and met her amber eyes. 

“You look beautiful, Nausicaä. Really.” Her voice was soft, her finger heavy.

I couldn’t hide my blush this time. Hespera stuck out her tongue and grasped my hand tightly, pulling me to my feet. She overrode Elpis’ stammered protestations with a brisk wave of her hand. 

“Now that you’re finally ready, can we go? If we stay longer you’re going to get dragged to that loom and that’ll scupper today entirely. You two, don’t say anything; if the queen asks, you’ve no idea where the princess is, and the last time you saw her was in her room, got it?”

Elpis opened her mouth to protest, but Chloris laid a hand on her shoulder, suppressing a smile.

“We last saw the princess in her room, and have not seen her since. Isn’t that right, Elpis?”

Elpis’ mouth snapped shut, and Chloris ushered her quickly from the chamber; Hespera was leading me towards the window even before the door had swung closed. 

“Let me go first, okay? I’ll whistle when the coast is clear.” Quick as a flash, she’d mounted the sill, and her tousled head was disappearing from sight. My window did not overlook the well-trafficked main courtyard - the women’s quarters were at the rear of the palace’s upper floor - but there was a small kitchen-garden below where the gossiping cooks might spot us and word would soon reach my mother’s ears.

A familiar trill from below came soon after, and I snatched up a pair of sandals and a plain scarf from where I had discarded them some time before. I wrapped the sandals in the scarf and dropped the bundle to where I knew Hespera would be waiting to catch them. I carefully swung my legs over the sill, seeking the thickest branches that formed the rungs of this secret ladder. The final few feet of wall were bare of ivy, but - as always - a pair of safe, strong hands cupped my bare foot and lowered me the rest of the way.

I hastened to tie my sandals and wrap my head in the scarf, and, stifling our laughter, we ran hand-in-hand from the garden and onto the street which led to the wharfs. It was not far, but we had to wend our way past a host of market-goers and pack animals. Hespera’s knee-length tunic made it easy for her to dart through closing gaps in the crowd, while I trailed behind trying not to stumble over the hem of my chiton, jostled by elbows and shambling cattle; she was like the Argo hurtling through the Symplegades, and I its stern, clipped by the clash of the great cliffs. 

We made it to the harbour, teeming with the Phaeacian trademark sleek vessels, banked with oars and sails, but entirely rudderless. I caught my breath while Hespera shimmied up a scaffold that held drying nets and scanned the piers for signs of her father’s. After a moment she pointed, vaulted to the ground, landing on all fours like a cat, and we were off again, ducking under timber being carried by labourers to a large jetty where the ++++ was just pulling in. A barrel-chested, trunk-armed man with leathery skin stood on the prow holding a coil of rope. He did not look much like his wiry daughter, until you realised his dark beard resisted taming the same way her hair did, and it was split by a similarly fierce grin.

Hespera caught the rope he hurled her with ease, and coiled it through the stone loop on the jetty as her father stepped ashore and made a deep bow.

“A great pleasure to see you again, princess.” His voice was the rumble of surf.

“Dymas, the pleasure is mine, despite the rude awakening your daughter gave me.” 

The old shipwright turned just in time to catch the hurtling form of Hespera, and narrowly avoided being upended off the pier. 

“Zeus’ beard, Hespera! Have I not told you a thousand times you’re not to go invading the palace on a whim!” he blustered, under a hail of kisses.

“I doubt even the palace of the Storm-Gatherer himself would be safe from Hesp,” I laughed.

“Not if there was a prize inside worth the effort,” she said, dropping to the ground and grinning up at her father. Dymas shook his head despairingly, but bright eyes sparkled under his furrowed brow.

“Well? How was the voyage? Save any shipwrecked sailors this time?” 

Dymas walked in the direction of the harbour, both of us following behind. “None this time. Although we did see Poseidon himself a few days ago, trundling along in that great sea-chariot of his. Seemed chipper enough. Probably had himself fed fat in Aethiopia. Now those folk’ll never send anyone away hungry, let alone an Olympian!” Dymas paused to muse, patting his belly. “Might head their way next time...”

Dymas caught himself: “uh, not that there’s anything wrong with your mother’s cooking, of course! Wouldn’t be half the man I am today without it. Quite literally,” and he gave his stomach another emphatic pat.

“Reckon we got home just in time though. You can never tell with these gods what mood they’re going to be in from one moment to the next. Had to skirt a nasty bastard - forgive me, princess - of a storm that kicked up not long after old sable-hair himself had driven by, that almost put us behind. But that passed soon enough and we caught a nice northerly, brought us right here. Which reminds me…”

He turned right, towards the temple of Poseidon, and joined the queue of worshippers. “Can’t forget to give the Earthshaker his due, eh? Especially if he’s in a temper.” He rummaged in his beltpouch and drew out a handful of pearls, almost as large as quail’s eggs. He swatted away Hespera’s hand as it snaked towards them. “They aren't for you, daughter. Remember: we Phaeacians are blessed by the gods, with never-failing crops, storm-secure ships, and their occasional visit. But they still command our respect, and thieving Propontine pearls I’ve promised Poseidon isn’t the way to go about it, however pretty they may be. Besides, I’ve already got something that’ll interest you more, I don’t doubt.”

Ignoring his daughter’s impassioned pleas, he approached the priest at the temple doors and handed over the lustrous gems. Palms raised heavens-wards, Dymas, prompted by the priest, intoned the traditional litany to Poseidon in gratitude for his and his crew’s safe return. The priest then placed the pearls on a gold dish held by a temple attendant, who solemnly conveyed them inside. 

Dymas returned, dusting his hands. “Right, that’s one debt settled; as for the second...” He made a deliberate show of tucking his purse back onto his belt, much to Hespera’s consternation. Finally satisfied, he set off at a stroll in the direction of his small shipyard: “I have news. Perhaps, dearest daughter, it can wait until I show the princess her father’s faith in old Dymas has not been misplaced?”

Hespera glowered, but I could see the familiar glint in her eyes that spoke of interest piqued. She grumbled the whole way to the yard, but half-heartedly. She stopped entirely once Dymas pushed open the sidegate, revealing what his men had been working on for the past month. 

Inside were two ships, unlike any I had seen before. They were sleek, their pointed prows clad in bronze so dark it appeared to be obsidian. The hulls were black: the black of a moonless night, of a windowless room entered from the glare of the sun, of deepest Erebus. The mast, the sails, the lines - all were black. The ships seemed to drink the colour of the world around them. They perched at the top of the twin slipways like kestrels, ready to launch themselves after the closest pigeon or hare that should stray into view.

Unthinkingly, I took a step closer, and another, until I could reach out and touch the side of one. The wood was as smooth as silk, and cool despite the blaze of Helios’ rays. I could barely see the joints between the planks, as if the ship had been carved entire from a single block of wood. No, I thought, not wood, but stone.

“Will your father be satisfied, princess?” Dymas’ voice betrayed his own pride. 

“Dymas, my father will be delighted. However did you manage this?”

Dymas looked bashful, shrugged.

“To tell you the truth, princess, I don’t rightly know. I plotted it out, same as usual, but even then it didn’t feel the same. The craftsfolk have been saying it too: the bronze came out different, the wood cut different… even the lines. The ropemaker swears she didn’t dye ‘em, they just...came out that way.” He paused, running his eyes over the smooth lines of the ships. “I’d have scrapped em and started again, but got this bad feeling every time I tried, like there was something behind me…” He trailed off, absentmindedly running a hand over the back of his head, as off to brush off an unwelcome touch.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t,” I beamed, “and I know my father will be too. Although I suspect the truth is that you’re where Hesp gets her schemes from, and you stole these from the workshop of Hephaistos himself!”

At the mention of her name, Hespera shook herself from the trance that had befallen her. She pounced on her father, squeezing him in a tight, fierce embrace. 

“Don’t listen to her, papa! I always said you were the best shipwrights on this island of master-shipwrights! Now that little shit Thersites might finally shut up about his family’s boats being better. Just wait til he sees these! They’re so good, papa!”

“Ah...yes, that reminds me…” Dymas gently extricated himself from the vise of his daughter’s grip, and cupped her face in his calloused craftsman’s hands. “I’ve been talking to Aristodromos - don't scowl, Hespera, for once it was not to apologise for you breaking his poor lad’s nose. But he agreed that our resources could be better employed together than as rivals.”

I felt a cold stone form in my chest.

“After all, he’s also got those exceptional pines on his land down to the south, and you know how we’ve had to turn down work before when the planks have gotten damp.”

I tried to swallow and found I could not.

“Plus having another team to share the load will give me more time with your mother, you know her joints are getting worse.”

My eyes pricked and I blinked hard. Why now? I thought we had a few more years.

“Of course these things must be done properly, important not to rush. A good sacrifice to Aphrodite, building a new house…”

“Papa, what are you getting at?” Hespera took a step back out of her father’s clasp.

Don’t say it, please don’t say it.

Dymas ceased to ramble, and met his daughter’s amber eyes, which he had been avoiding. 

“You are to marry Thersites, Hespera.”

I cannot clearly remember the rest of the conversation in Dymas’ shipyard. There were raised voices, angry words, tears. When Hespera took off running, I followed. She ran with the speed of a wounded hind, frantic, spurred on by the arrow buried inside her, crashing onward, seeking safety. My dress hindered me and by the time I had stopped to tie it above my knees, she had disappeared. But I knew where she would go. 

I found her there, just as Helios reached the peak of his daily arc across the sky. She was sat with her eyes closed and back against the base of the old holm-oak which stood proud, solitary, on a hill overlooking the palace. This was our spot. It had been since we were children and a chance encounter had thrown us together. 

Years had passed since that moment. Years spent running with Hespera on the beaches. Years spent stalking birds in the woods, Hespera silent, myself clumsy at first, until she taught me. Years spent wandering the self-tending orchards and vineyards, just the two of us, save for when it was time for the harvest. Then we would dash in and steal as many fruits as we could from the nets and baskets, dodging the scolds of the workers as we fled, grass whipping our legs, low branches plucking at our loose hair, until we flopped down, exhausted in the shade of the holm-oak, sharing our spoils, our breathless laughter slowly quieting, until we would sink into gentle sleep, side by side. 

A wind from the north threaded lightly through the trees and cooled the sweat on my skin. I approached quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but she turned to look at me, her amber eyes blazing with anger and tears. 

“Don’t-”

“I brought you this,” I interrupted. I held out a fig I had stopped to pick on the way. Figs were her favourite. Our favourite. 

She stopped, her eyes burning into mine, like those of a lynx, cornered by hunters, hunkered, snarling, daring them to challenge her. 

“Forever the wildcat, Hesp,” I said, softly.

She blinked, and I saw tears well in the corners of those eyes before they were dropped to shield them from me.

“You’re hurt.” It was barely a whisper.

I looked down too, and saw that one of my sandals was gone, a scrap of leather strap all that remained. I hadn’t noticed while I had been chasing her, but now I felt the throb as the gash on my foot reddened the earth where I stood. 

I looked up at the sound of tearing. Hespera was ripping a long strip from the hem of her tunic. 

“Come here.”

I stepped forward, and she inspected the wound, her fingers firm but gentle, dark against my own pale skin.

“It’s not bad. Hold still.”

She held my foot on her lap as she bound the strip of wool tight. I pushed my thumb into the soft flesh of the fig and carefully worked it round to split it in two. When she was finished, I lowered my foot from her lap - the throb had settled to a dull ache - and passed her half of the fig. She didn’t look up at me. I sat next to her, our shoulders barely touching.

“I-”

“Can we… can’t we just sit?” 

I nodded. We sat there, in the shade of the holm-oak, chewing the soft flesh of a Phaeacian fig, and tried to forget that our lives were changing behind our control. The sun-god’s chariot rode steadily across the sky, the northern breeze played with our hair, twining and unthinking my blonde and her brown. Hespera rested her head on my shoulder, I rested my cheek on her crown. We slept.

Hespera stirred first, as she always did, right as the sun started to dip beneath the horizon, its last rays knifing low under the shade of the branches onto our faces. I groaned and threw an arm over my face to deny its assault, only to feel a tickling on my nose. I swatted at it blindly, drawing a laugh from Hespera. Peering, bleary-eyed from under my arm, I saw she was wielding a grass-stalk, and was smiling that mischievous smile that I had seen the first time I met her, and most days since. She ducked away when I tried to swat her, and her easy laugh broke my heart. 

She stood first and stretched, feline, standing so her long shadow shaded my eyes. 

“It’s time, princess.” 

She called me that to tease me, every time a day’s adventure came to an end. I had long since given up asking her not to. Now I would have given anything to know that she always would. She reached down and I took the hand she extended. Her grip was strong, safe. 

I removed my remaining sandal and discarded it. We walked back in silence down the hill and through the groves in the direction of the palace, towards the first notes plucked from the bard’s lyre and the laughter echoing from the brazen walls of the grand hall. One by one the cicadas picked up the chorus, their creaking song swelling to fill the dusk. I slowed my pace, willing the journey to last longer. Hespera slowed hers to match.

Too soon we reached the palace gate, just as Helios sank beneath the sea. Hespera leaned against one of the posts, watching while I tried to brush the grass and bark from my dress. 

“You- you should come. Join the feast. Mother and father wouldn’t mind and-” I trailed off, feeling foolish. My words seemed too loud. Even in the low light, I could see her smile that smile of hers, the one that danced across the corners of her mouth and flashed in her eyes. She shook her head. It was not her place, she said. She was right, and I hated that she was. She turned to go.

“Hesp.”

She stopped, but did not turn around. The wind tugged insistently at her hair, as if trying to take her away from me quicker than she already was being.”

“I just want to say-”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

My heart thudded in my chest.

“I’ll find a way. It won’t be hard to persuade Aristodromos that my dowry isn’t worth having me as a daughter-in-law.”

Her voice was matter of fact. Cold. I reached for her shoulder, and she flinched away. She wheeled around, and even in the twilight her eyes flared gold. 

“But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you’ll be the blushing bride any day now.”

I froze.

“How did you…?”

An empty laugh; one I’d never heard her give before.

“How did I know? How did I know that your father, the king, has been courted by each of the Twelve seeking to match their noblest sons with his only daughter, for weeks now? Let me think, Nausicaä, could it be that I’m not a total fucking idiot?”

I stammered, trying to find the words to explain how I’d wanted - tried - to talk to her about, but that every time I saw her all that mattered was the time we spent together, her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her hand on mine.

In the end, all I could say was:

“I have to. I’m-”

“-the princess. I know. And here was me thinking that you were my...that you were my friend.”

She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, and adopted a cheery tone.

“Well, may I be the first to congratulate you, princess, on your soon-to-be happy marriage. And if you need a boat for the wedding party, be sure to ask for Dymas.”

She dropped an awkward curtsy, holding the torn hem of her man’s tunic. Without another word, she spun on her heels and ran, spurred on by the wind. I watched until she disappeared from view, and waited until my tears had dried.

As usual, the courtyard was deserted at this time, the servants either inside tending the mixing bowls and ovens, or withdrawn to their quarters for the evening. Above, the magnificent frieze which encircled my father’s house was barely visible, its deep blue enamel practically black. The hot, rich aroma of roasted meat drifted out through the golden doors which hung ajar on their silver posts; it made me want to vomit. 

My bare feet padded across the stones of the courtyard, still warm from Helios’ rays: quiet, muffled by the sounds of the feast indoors, but still they did not escape notice. Two shadows flanking the threshold shifted, sat up; the one on the left let out a ringing bark. 

“Hush, Brontë!” 

I ruffled the bronze scales between their ears, then Asterope’s when they nuzzled my other hand. Their cold hard noses pressed into my palms insistently, expectantly, but I walked on. My father’s sentries watched me slip through the doors into the light and noise before curling up once more on the porch. 

Mother and father were there, sat on their thrones at the far end of the hall, my brothers flanking them: Laodamas ever-smiling, Halius’ foot tapping along to the music, Clytoneus stern and quiet, eager to be away. Below them, the pride of Scheria’s nobility feasted at-ease, their hair, flesh and finery gleaming in the double-glow of the central hearth and the lamps held aloft by the sculpted golden youths on their marble pedestals. 

I slipped silently past, hugging the darkened edges of the hall, brushing against the tapestries that adorned the walls. Demodocus strummed his lyre and the hall fell silent, but they were all too intent upon the bard to heed me. He picked up his song where he had left off the previous evening, with two Achaian heroes sneaking into a slumbering camp on the plains outside some distant, doomed city, with murder in their hearts. I cared naught.

Climbing the stairs and passing through the door into the women’s quarters, I ran headlong to my bedchamber, praying to Artemis that my maids would not be there. They were not. I lay on my bed, not bothering to change. I stared at the window, praying to Artemis that Hespera would come clambering through it, so I could apologise and tell her my heart. She did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is ‘officially’ chapter 2 (with the exordium just being the prologue) and is told in flashback, as the next few chapters will be. Chapter 1 is as-yet unwritten because a) I’m a trash goblin, and b) I think it will actually help to work through this chronologically for the time being. Can I add a preceding chapter to an existing fic? Probably not, but that’s a problem for future me to worry about.
> 
> This is VERY much a work in progress, and I haven’t written in yonks, so all feedback gratefully received. If your feedback is “NO STOP EW” then I ask for a little more specifics about what is NO-STOP-EW-worthy so I can learn. I know this probably isn’t how AO3 is supposed to be used, so do also call me up on breaches of etiquette.


End file.
